Monday, July 29, 2013

Blast from the Past

So I found these poems a couple days ago. Kind of forgot that they existed and I was pleasantly surprised at the quality. I think. I wrote them all at a much rougher time in my life and in the end I am glad they are going out there. I think poets tend to think their later worker is always better as it is more refined. In this case I feel like I have lost some of the visceral quality that makes me appealing. Also one piece contains a fun contradiction about whether I would ever be published or not. Haha, good times.
Poetry Bomb.


Perhaps in excess
For drink
The outdoors
And in a misguided sense
Women as well

Determination to find
And write with
The perfect sentence
The strong efficient line

You are sorely missed.

I am not

I am not
Nor will I ever be
A published poet

I never drank like you did
As much
As fast
As reckless

Nor did I
As much as you

I never indulged
In the company
Of as many
Much younger women
As you did

Nor were mine crazy.

But I do enjoy
From time to time.
A hard boiled egg
Or two.

I am,

A big fucking bastard sized slice
of big fucking bastard.
I am a formidable opponent
Whose chest hairs and opposable thumbs
Create a supreme advantage.
I can open a can,
To feed your asses and
At the same time
Knap a flint blade,
Affix it
To a stick
And instantly upset
The entire food chain.

If I so desire
I can put a worm
On bent metal
And deceive a fish
Into giving me its life
So that I can eat
If I should find myself in need of food,
And lacking any of the cellophane wrapped
Convenience nuggets
So readily available

            I was not alive yet

but first they came for the communists, and union men. Many did nothing. During WWII they came for the Jews in Europe, and the Japanese in America and still many did nothing. Then McCarthy came for the “Communists” again but more loosely defined, if defined at all. McCarthy and his drunken bullshit crusade were also much too seldom questioned and by too few.  Then the “hippies” became the threat, with their pot smoking and other highly organized subversive behavior. When I was in high school I watched the towers come down, then they came for the “Muslims” and anyone who looked, spoke, or smelled like one. At first I did nothing, then I learned how all this works and still I did too little. Soon they may come for me, just for disagreeing. When I am taken who will be there for 

In life I have few things


I have two arms
Two legs
Two hands and feet
The boots on said feet
Two balls
And my swinging dick

And I am the richest man I know.


Generally annoy me

Generally infuriate me

The world
Generally confuses me

Tends to leave me feeling
That perhaps something is missing.

Leaves no doubt
As to the goodness of being alive

The same
Can be said of cigarettes

And most emphatically so
The same can be said
Of her.

Philosophers might tell you
That life is a dream.

Fuck that.
This is, unfortunately
As real as it gets.


This life
This world
These institutions
The currency of our wretched society
Devalued as it might be
Are as far as I
Or any living soul could tell you
(sorry I have yet to hear from anyone beyond)
The only thing
We will ever know

Some years from now
If I find myself
floating in some great bullshit beyond
I will come back and let you know

Keep a fifth and
A pack of smokes close at hand.


“You don’t always die from tobacco”
Says the singing propaganda cowboy.
Well no shit Einstein,
but you knew damn well
that you could, when you started.

Don’t, good sir use your
Laryngectomy for propaganda.
You knew what could happen, hell
you probably still light up
when no one is around.
To be privy to your addiction,
of its size and scope.

You probably are or were
much like me,
a person who simply loves
to smoke cigarettes.

Even now
Whilst attempting to quit
I am glad it is largely due
To not being able to afford it.
Not because
You make ads attempting to scare me.

Today I Laughed

I continue to find throughout my life, that very few things actually remain enjoyable. My collection of video games is quite large. When I was younger I could play them forever and never grow bored. Now, they only do the job sporadically at best. Movies no longer hold that certain sway. I find the news intolerable now. Fishing, formerly a favorite now just pisses me off because I can not afford tackle. I spend the majority of every day lying around reading and watching the cats take their shits. I cannot, for the life of me get a fucking job. The black sheep of a black sheep family, not deemed as worthy of a minimum wage job in a shit town. Do not go to fucking college, unless you plan on going all the way. (I.e. a PhD) I have tried for days to shake this feeling, to find THE JOY, which I used to feel, that doing shit used to bring me. Yesterday I was reading, and a line concerning Small versus mainstream poetry mags caught my attention. “The horses’ mouth has met the horses’ ass and is eating its own shit.” I read, and then re-read it. Something happened inside me and I began to laugh; deep, natural, genuine laughter, the kind that feels better than taking a magnificent shit. Better than the best shit you ever pinched off times a thousand. Having this happen reassured me that everything will be ok. My life will still bring me joy and still does, even now bring me joy. Even just the little things, like magnificent shits and humorous lines of literature still bring me joy. 

Yellow Ribbons

I see it everywhere,
That yellow ribbon
Car bumpers,
On homes,
Or signs in front of said homes.
Even on people’s clothes.
Maybe with a flag pin as well.
Why risk being seen as unpatriotic?
Which makes me wonder.
How similar was it with swastikas?

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